


Tricks and Treats

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26717830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Honoria Winchester meets Margaret at a seminar and brings her in on a seasonal matchmaking plan.
Relationships: Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan/Honoria Winchester, Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Tricks and Treats

The courtyard of the conference center baked in the summer heat; planters filled with colorful flowers perfumed the air and a nearby fountain chuckled to itself. _You’ve come a long way, Houlihan,_ Margaret thought as she surveyed the tables spread out in the sun, looking for a place to look over the notes she’d taken in the morning sessions. A figure caught her eye and she stared… and was promptly _caught_ staring. 

Nothing for it then. Raising herself up to her full height and straightening into what she always thought of as a military posture, she walked over to the lovely young woman and extended a hand. “Pardon me for staring,” she began, shifting the leather satchel on her shoulder. “You just seemed so very familiar.”

Then the lovely woman spoke and the pieces fell into place. 

“I served with your brother in Korea,” said Margaret.

Honoria Winchester was already beautiful, but at mention of the one person she loved best of all, she brightened, becoming more beautiful still. Her amethyst eyes filled with light. “He s-still speaks so highly of a-all of you,” said Honoria. “Please sit d-down.”

***

That chance meeting soon became one of the happiest days of Margaret’s life. She quite forgot about the afternoon sessions she had meant to attend and spent the time talking, sharing stories of Charles, of Korea, of army life (of minnows in her pockets!!) - and developing a lot more than a little crush. 

Fortunately, Honoria seemed to be on the same page. She was staying at the conference center for the next few days for a series of trunk shows that were of interest to the magazine for which she wrote, and she insisted that Margaret be her dinner companion. The Major felt nervous on two counts: her increasing attraction and the differences in their status. But if she got to spend more time getting to know Honoria - wasn’t that worth a charge on her Amex? 

It very much turned out to be when, halfway through dinner, Honoria took Margaret’s hand and let slip a very interesting piece of information. 

“You d-didn’t _know_?”

Stunned, Margaret shook her head. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve been w-writing to the dear thing for _ages_. You should s-s-see the sweet, impossible things he writes about Ch-Charles!”

Margaret’s eyes sparkled as Honoria unfolded her plan. “Are you sure it’s _Charles’_ happiness you’re after?” she joked. “The way you talk about Corporal Klinger, it sounds like _you_ want to adopt him.”

“I v-very much do. But w-what you must understand is h-how lonely Charles is… how lonely he’s _always_ been. The s-sergeant,” she gave him his most recent rank, the one Margaret had neither approved of nor gotten accustomed to, “won me over p-precisely because he l-loves him so very much.”

“And Charles?” She thought back to the man’s arrival at the 4077th. _I was flirting with the wrong Winchester, turns out_ , she thought, amused. 

“I w-will not embarrass my b-brother by t-telling you exactly how I know about his affections, but I can m-more than assure you that they are m-meant to be.”

Margaret looked amused. “And your plan to unite them is a Halloween party?” It was the type of thing that might once have been staged at the 4077th. The childishness of those antics had once grated on her like sand rubbed into her eyes, but now she looked back on those times - and her friends - with fondness. 

“Maxwell likes to d-dress up.”

“And Charles?”

“Hates H-halloween _and_ r-reunions, but loves me and w-will grant me t-this as a birthday gift if I ask. I’ve even rented a c-castle.”

“A _whole_ castle?”

“With Ch-Charles’ money.” She laughed at Margaret’s expression. “If he b-brings home his S-sergeant, I p-promise to start s-spending my own.”

In the back of her mind, Margaret wondered about that. Was money part of Klinger’s attraction to the well-bred Major? Then she scolded herself for the thought. Klinger was the least materialistic person she’d ever known - despite his love of touchable materials to sew with. But, supposedly, this whole star-crossed drama had played out under her nose. How had she not noticed? 

“I am g-going to need a co-hostess,” Honoria said then, lilac eyes merry. 

“Won’t you need a date?”

Honoria took her hand again. “You cannot be b-both?”

Margaret was delighted to sign on - and that was how, a month later, she found herself in Toledo. 

***

The former Sergeant resided, if they’d found the correct address, in a modest walk up a few blocks from the university where he was using his GI benefits to take classes and a few feet from the library where he studied for them. The door opened at their knock and the expression on Klinger’s face was all they might have wished. 

“ _Major Houlihan?!”_ Klinger nearly twisted his ankle hurrying to get to her, to hug her, to confirm that she was really there. 

Margaret laughed. “Klinger, you’re being rude. I’ve brought someone to meet you, silly.”

He turned and Margaret saw a change come over him. He grew softer and, ridiculous as it was to think, almost _noble_ when he looked at Honoria. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss Winchester,” he said without benefit of an introduction and his hand covered one of hers, not shaking it, just holding on. 

“How do you know,” Margaret began and Klinger just laughed at her - happier, maybe, than she’d ever seen him. 

“Who else could it be?”

“The Sergeant and I have been w-writing each other for y-years,” Honoria reminded her. “He no doubt rec-recognizes this outfit as he is the one who c-coordinated it.”

“It is perfect, ma’am, but that has more to do with you than the designer, I promise.” It was the eyes he’d recognized, actually - the stateliness and loveliness of her tall, regal form. For just a moment, his heart ached and he looked past them, wishing Charles had come too. 

She hugged him then, hard, then drew back to admit that she’d wanted to do so for years. “You look w-well, Sergeant.”

“Former,” he pointed out. “You can call me Max, ma’am. What are you doing in Toledo?”

“Surprising you,” said Margaret. “Are you going to let us in or are we going to do all our reuniting on the front rug?”

Klinger looked chagrined. “My apartment’s no fit place for you, Major, Ma’am.” 

Margaret saw this was going to be a hold up and pushed him out of the way. “I lived in a _tent_ in Korea, Klinger, move.”

Despite Klinger’s clear forebodings, the small space was a tidy one. The furniture was second hand but polished, the dishes mismatched but somehow cozy. 

Inside, Klinger did his best to rally, making coffee and assembling a decent showing of cut vegetables and fruit for them to snack on. He wouldn’t let them help, so Margaret sat at the table, directing (how had the man endured so much KP and still not learned how to cut a carrot??) while Honoria snooped. 

She reemerged with a wide grin and a faded garment. “Max? You are either s-slipping in regards to your understanding of f-fashion, or else this t-shirt, which is much too l-large for you, b-belongs to my idiot b-brother.”

Klinger blushed so spectacularly that it looked like fireworks had been set off under his skin. “Ma’am,” he said weakly, looking, Margaret thought, like he wanted to sink down through the chair, through the floor. 

It would probably be truly wrong to pile on, but Margaret just couldn’t help it. “Do you sleep in it or with it beside you?”

“ _Major!_ ” 

“What? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to think about the man you love while you fall asleep.”

Klinger looked trapped and helpless. “I didn’t think he’d miss one shirt,” he mumbled. 

Honoria came to his side and touched his shoulder. “Darling, I’m not ch-chastising you. For one t-thing, I find you t-terribly clever.”

Margaret saw Klinger brighten at this and wished she had been kinder to him in Korea; kindness did for him what sunlight did for hothouse roses. 

“B-besides,” Honoria went on, “it’s n-no way to b-begin being f-family. I don’t begrudge you a s-shirt - not w-when you should have taken much more.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve not been reading my l-letters very c-closely,” she said, shaking a manicured hand at him. “My b-brother is a wonderful m-man. He’s brilliant, c-cultured, he can e-even m-manage kind when he wishes. However, there has been n-n-no one to celebrate these qualities but me - until I made, by letter, your sing-singular acquaintance. I love you for loving him. Did you not know t-that?”

“Can’t say I did.” He swallowed, steadied. “It doesn’t matter though, ma’am. The Major isn’t going to go for it.”

Watching the exchange, Margaret felt a bright stab of pity. Had Klinger’s eyes looked like _that_ in Korea? She remembered the time he’d fallen ill, Charles’ fingers opening his shirt, moving over fevered flesh. Had there been love in that touch - and love in Klinger’s eyes - and neither of them able to see it in the other? Men were _such_ perfect idiots! 

“Sergeant, l-listen to me. Remember I said all that wonderful stuff about Ch-Charles? Let me add something else. The man has absolutely never been touched. At l-least, not for l-long or by anyone w-who really cared for h-him. Is t-that the life y-you want for the m-man we both l-love best?” 

Klinger whimpered. “You can’t say stuff like that, ma’am.”

“If it gets you to-together, I shall say wha-whatever I want. Besides, it’s true. Come on, let me try.”

“What are you thinking?”

“The Major - not y-your Major - and I are planning a little p-party.”

Klinger looked between them, realized, and broke into a grin that lit the whole kitchen. “You two are looking through rose-colored glasses, ma’am. I get it and I’m happy for you, really. The Major,” he nodded to Margaret, “is amazing. But he won’t… he doesn’t…”

“Beacon H-Hill isn’t M-Mount Everest, darling. You can climb it.”

Margaret jumped in to help her, having learned that Honoria’s stutter made long conversations difficult. Sometimes they communicated by note, writing tender little things until they reached a point when they didn’t really need speech anymore anyway. “Look, if it doesn’t work, you see your friends,” she told Klinger. “You eat a popcorn ball. You dress up - you like that. Then you come back here. Easy.” She gave him a conspirator’s smile. “And if it does, you bob for apples and eat a popcorn ball and you take him to bed. What have you got to lose?” 

“The two of you are terrifying.”

But, both women noted, there was hope in his eyes. 

***

That night, they sprang the first part of their plan on him. 

“Stage one - call him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Klinger protested. “It will be weird. And I can’t afford it.”

“ _He_ can a-afford it,” said Charles’ beautiful and forceful sister.

Margaret seconded her. “Come on. Talk sweet to him. He needs it.”

Max’s eyes bugged.

“Not _like that_. Just ask him about his life. No one else is. Remind him how nice it is to have someone care about you.”

“To not be lonely,” Honoria added. It was a newfound experience for her, too, and it broke her heart to think of all Charles might have. 

As they sent him off to make the call, the girls retired to the room they’d commandeered and turned on the radio. Then Honoria held a finger to her lips and produced a screwdriver, removing the vent. 

“You can’t!” Margaret protested. 

“I’ve been s-s-stage managing this r-romance for two _years_. I need this. Give me that n-notepad.”

Margaret did so, holding back wild laughter. Between Honoria and Maxwell, Charles was going to be _way_ in over his head. He probably wouldn’t even be able to pick his own clothes ever again. 

They could hear Max’s gentle voice. “Major?”

“Oh God. I didn’t know he’d sound like _that_ ,” Margaret whispered.

“I did. He’s g-going to make Ch-Charles _very_ h-happy.”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” they heard Klinger say, fighting off a squeak. 

Charles is asking him about his health, Honoria wrote. He thinks it’s some kind of emergency. He’ll switch to “do you need money” in a sec. Idiot. 

“You’re awfully hard on him.”

“He’s been hard on that d-dear, sw-sweet man, too. And not in a f-fun way. How can you have that m-much love right in f-front of you and not see it??”

“It’s a tough match.”

“No it isn’t! Ch-Charles has the m-money and the ad-advantages to make it work.”

**

The next night the ladies went to the movies. Klinger paid for the date, but begged off, saying he needed to study. It wasn’t true, but their romance was new and it needed space to blossom in. 

He curled up on his bed with a book but mostly just drowsed, thinking of last night's conversation. It had been a little bit painful; Charles had clearly been put off by him calling at first. 

The phone rang. He figured it was the guys wanting to go bowling or someone from class wanting to stress the upcoming exam. 

“Maxwell?”

“Major?”

“I sometimes contemplate what universal shift would have to occur before you consistently called me by name.”

Klinger knew the answer to that one. _I’d have to be on my back with you over me, sir, and then I’d beg for you by name so “consistently” you wouldn’t even believe it._ “Is everything okay, Major?”

“I suppose. Honoria is off doing something or another for work.”

 _Honoria is down the street watching_ _Killer Leopard_ _with Margaret Houlihan_ , Klinger mentally corrected. 

“I looked around and found I had nothing to occupy me. I thought of our conversation last night and discovered I had been quite remiss.”

“Forgot to wish me sweet dreams?”

“Indeed. I forgot to ask about you at all. What are you doing with yourself, Maxwell?”

 _Everything because I am_ **_by myself_** _, sir. Which includes, you’d probably be interested to know, pretending to have your hands on me late at night._ But he told the Major about going to school, instead. 

“What degree are you pursuing?”

“I don’t know yet. There’s lots of general studies stuff to pass first. I did a music class last year, sir, so I’ve seen a symphony now. I wrote about Mahler for my paper.”

“Why?”

“Because I remembered you listening to him.” 

“I fear I listen to very little now.”

“I know, Major. I’m sorry.”

But he couldn’t help thinking that he would have made an exception to accompany that bright-eyed thing to his first symphony. 

“No matter. What else are you studying?”

“I have a class on natural history. I get to sketch for it so I like that. They bring in animals sometimes too. I really want a cat but I’m only working part time because of school so I can’t afford a monthly pet fee for my building. Oh, I have a design class too.”

“Still planning to make a go of the Klinger Collection?”

“Still hoping to draw for somebody someday. It’s part of me and I don’t wanna turn my back on it.”

“Good for you.”

***

The next call lacked even a salutation, arriving a few days after Honoria and Margaret had gone with promises to see him for Halloween. 

“May I see you?”

“Huh? Where are you calling from? It’s loud!”

“I am in, ah, a train station en route to, well _you_. Which returns us to our original query. When I arrive, as I am shortly slated to do, in your home city, may I see you?”

“Of course, Major! But what are you doing traveling here? Major?”

The call had been terminated. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III was coming to him? He looked around. The place was clean, yes. But it wasn’t refined. He needed groceries, too, though he’d been hoping to stretch the pasta he had until payday. He needed to change. Having no idea what time frame he had to work with, he _hurried._

In just under 45 minutes, the bathroom had been wiped down, the guest bedroom made tidy and welcoming, he had cognac and cake and groceries enough to make several passable meals. His back-of-the-junk-drawer emergency fund envelope was empty, but he didn’t mind. 

It was then that he discovered that he had nothing to wear. Deciding the Major had never seen him in jeans, he pulled on a pair that fit well, belted them, and promptly fell out of love with every shirt he owned - whether in male or female cut. He wished he knew _where_ Charles was going to appear. If he met him at the station, he probably shouldn’t go too frilly; but Major Houlihan and Miss Winchester had come to him - maybe Charles would too? Playing it safe, he chose something that was comfortable rather than flashy. For sparkle, he wore glittery eye shadow and an ankle bracelet. 

Then there was nothing to do but wait. 

And worry. 

Maybe Honoria had _told_ Charles how he felt? But he didn’t think so. She’d kept his secret since ‘52. He grew glum. Maybe Charles had found some upper class dame and needed his help with a wedding gown. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth? 

Convinced by then that this couldn’t go well (whatever it was) Klinger jumped half his height at the knock on the door. 

Palms sweaty, he opened it to find the man he’d very much been in love with for years. Charles looked travel-weary (his clothes were rumpled) and wild-eyed. He had very little in the way of luggage but retained his imposing dignity. 

“The garbage truck in which I left Korea was only slightly less commodious than the train which brought me here,” he said by way of a greeting. 

That voice, that manner of speaking… Klinger fought off the urge to whine in pleasure as his abdomen tightened. 

“Sorry, sir. Come in. Let me fix you a drink.” 

Charles followed, looking around as Klinger opened cupboards. “I don’t recall you drinking during our time abroad.”

“I still don’t, but you do. I’m not a bad little hostess - even without much warning.”

“I apologize. I was… stricken with the need to leave Boston in a hurry. I could think of no place to seek refuge but here.”

“You have a beach house,” Klinger gently reminded him. “Property in New York, DC and Europe.”

“Are you telling me that I need to endure further travel? That you wish me gone?”

“Nope. If I didn’t want you here I wouldn’t have bought cake. I’m just asking why _here_ in particular? What do you want for dinner? I can cook or we can hit the streets and eat out.”

“I had no idea you could cook.”

“Sure I can. Any preferences?”

“Anything is fine.”

“You’re white as a sheet, you know. You should go lay down. I’ll come get you when there’s food.” 

***

When he went to retrieve Charles, Klinger found the man looking at a likeness of himself, a photo that had been taken in the mess tent. The sepia image (Radar had developed it for him in Seoul) was nearly a profile; in it Charles looked away, contemplating. 

“I don’t recall posing for this.”

“You didn’t. I stole it.”

“Didn’t you almost get court-martialed for stealing a camera?”

“Sure, but _that_ time I was innocent. I meant to put it away before you got here.” 

“Come here please.” Max went, standing before him. “I am, you must know, making certain assumptions based on the presence of my photograph on your nightstand. If I am correct, I would like to … hold you… if you would permit it.” 

“Major?” 

“Please? I promise that I will try to explain.” 

Klinger slipped into his arms; he had always known how well he would fit. His dark eyes were very bright. “You don’t have to tell it, Major. I’ve got you - I don’t need the words.” 

They forgot about dinner and stayed clinging to each other as if shells were bursting around them and the only safety existed in the circuit they made where skin met skin. They did not kiss or try to undress; they just held tight. Sometimes, Charles would speak, voice low and agonized. 

“I never should have left without you.” He smiled sadly when Max nodded his agreement; the younger man had always known _that_ , too. His throat had been raw with the tears he’d swallowed down between Uijeongbu and Toledo. “I tried not to fall for you, you know. Seeing you cross the OR in your heels, your skirts flaring around you, Maxwell, I have never been so helpless before or since.” 

Max murmured his reassurances into his neck, his shoulders, his chest. “I hope you know that I won’t be able to let you go after this,” he warned the Major. “You’re stuck with me.” 

“Oh, darling, if you think I’ve any wish to attempt one more night of sleeping without you beside me, you haven’t been listening.” He kissed his hands. “Come to Boston.”

The romantic in Max wanted nothing else. However, romance wasn’t the sole consideration. “What about work? School?” 

“Your designing is work enough, but if you insist on further employment, we will find you something. Your military benefits are not limited to Ohio; we can find a program for you to continue your studies. Please, Max? You may dress however you wish - I promise. And I will get you a cat. Ten cats if you want them. And Honoria will love you.” 

“Oh, no!” Max brought a hand to his head as if in pain. “I can’t go with you yet, Major! We’ll ruin Honoria’s surprise!”’

The Major’s mouth quirked - partly at his rank, partly at the idea of Maxwell and Honoria teaming up. It was a notion capable of inspiring both charm and terror. “Honoria’s surprise?”

“She said you never listen to her, you know.”

“I am a flawed brother, sometimes, yes. I suppose I will prove a flawed…” He paused, unsure what to call whatever it was they were, that they nearly always had been, to one another. 

“Mine,” Maxwell said, helping. “I don’t care what you call it, Major. Just say you’ll be mine. Just mine.”

Charles thought about teasing him; this possessive streak was, well, almost Winchestrian. “Are you under the impression that you have competition, my dear and only one?” 

Max held his eyes, reminded him of the women who had fallen for him in Korea, showed him, in his gaze, just how much it had hurt _every single time_. 

_I needs must propose to you - and without the period of consideration laid down by etiquette books. You simply will not feel secure otherwise and you knew enough of fear in war._

“There is only you,” Charles promised. “My heart has been quite closed to anyone else since it discovered that it had been built to house you, I assure you. Now, what is all this about Honoria and a surprise?”

“Her Halloween party. Don’t you remember? I think you’re paying for it.”

“I have no doubt that I am. There was something about a castle?”

Klinger could read his voice despite the time they’d spent apart. “You were gonna get out of it!” he accused. 

Charles shrugged. “I said I was flawed, did I not?”

Klinger shoved at him. “She loves you, baby. You have to be good to her.”

“And, pray tell, how do you know this, Maxwell?”

“I knew it back in camp from the way she said your name when she answered the phone, stupid.” But he went on to relate the surprise visit from Honoria, skirting her relationship with Margaret; _that_ wasn’t his secret to tell. 

Charles held his new-won love on his lap. “Maxwell, darling, you mean me to understand that my sister is throwing a Halloween party, of all things, in an attempt to bring you and I together?”

“Yes. And that’s what she’s gonna get, too. She worked really hard.”

Charles tilted his head, considering. Honoria, he knew, would have planned no farther than seeing his eyes change when Maxwell appeared; she had always been able to read his strangely colored gaze. He swore she’d started doing it in the cradle. But perhaps he could fill two needs with one deed. He could use the party to propose - shoring up Maxwell’s doubts and delighting his dear sister who wished, always, it seemed, for what would make him happiest. 

“You look like you’re up to something,” Max informed him. 

“Spirit of Halloween, no? Tricks and all?”

“That mean you won’t tell me?” 

“Not until the party, no. You will like it, I think.” He touched his lips to the younger man’s cheek. “I deserve neither of you, you know.”

“But you need us, right?”

“Practically to breathe, beloved.”

“That’s alright then.” He nuzzled into him. “Hey, if you’re doing the tricks part, Major baby,”

Charles lifted an eyebrow at him. 

“Shut up. I say it all the time in my head.”

“It sounds wonderful, darling. Please, finish what you were saying.”

“Oh, yeah. The treats part. When’s that?”

Charles laughed, delighted, proud to have this pretty thing in his arms - grateful, too. “I sense that it is not a candy apple you are angling for, sweet.”

“Showing off that fancy education again, huh?” 

“I have missed this,” he confided. “Our back and forth. Your smart mouth.”

“You shoulda let me sit in your lap from the start. I woulda won more often.” 

“Pretty menace.” **_My_ ** _pretty menace_. 

Klinger shifted against him. “Aw, c’mon, Major. I can be lots prettier than this.” He flashed him a quick, bashful look that was full of questions. “I, uh, I wasn’t sure how to dress for you.” He dropped his eyes. “I was kinda scared you were coming to tell me you met some girl and wanted my help with clothes for _her_.”

“Maxwell, you are the only man _and the only girl_ for me. Do you understand?”

The younger man tilted his head first to the left, then the right, as if by doing so he could achieve an angle that would allow him to perceive things clearly and understand. “Huh?” 

“Did you imagine I would ask you to be mine, Max, and then ask you to be less or other than you are? I realize that I did you little good in Korea, but did I truly leave you with so pitiful an impression?” 

Klinger heard the pain in him and lessened the distance between them, gripping tighter with his arms and thighs. “ _No_ , baby. It’s just… it’s a lot. For anybody to accept, really. My ma is good with it, and some of my uncles and cousins… but that’s it. And nobody really _gets it_ , you know?” But Charles had seemed to, even back then and over there. 

“Perhaps there are facets I do not yet perceive or fully understand, but you have always trusted me. You can help me to learn, no?” 

“You really want to?” 

“Yes. This is no seasonal trick. I know how important it is to you. I suspect that you are wearing something frilly or silky right now somewhere on your person in order to maintain a livable level of comfort, but had you met me at the door in a ball gown, I would have loved you and wanted and needed you just the same.” 

Charles felt what happened next as a sort of fine motion - vibration carried through a cat’s whisker or through spider silk, maybe - but then that dark head was pressed to his shoulder and Maxwell was _crying_ , eyes hidden to do so, without making a sound. The Major knew just what sort of events taught one to cry that way and he stroked Maxwell’s hair and told him, over and over, that no one would ever hurt him over his identity again. 

“You shall be whatever it is you most wish to be, Maxwell Klinger, whenever you wish it - my man, my girl, both at once, neither at all - and I shall be beside you, supporting you, complimenting your beauty and your clothes, and being so very proud of you.”

The last would be worth far more to Maxwell, always, than the proposal he would soon receive, and he cried harder to hear it. Cried out, he lifted his head to find Charles ready to kiss him and to use his fancy handkerchief (it smelled like cedar and sea air, lemongrass and cold sugar) to blot his tears. Klinger saw he was smiling. “Major?”

“It has always been my considered opinion that you possessed a most singular sparkle, Maxwell. That you cast a glow. This, however, is new and frankly adorable.” He displayed a sparkle-dusted fingertip. “Your eye shadow, pet, is _everywhere_.” 

It wasn’t yet, not really, but the next morning, Charles would find it on his fingers, his brow, his chest… and that was just for starters. 

*** 

The castle was lit with hollowed out pumpkins and faux cobwebs layered over the real thing. Cinnamon brooms and bound cornshucks and scatterings of mums, gourds, and marigolds gave colorful (and olfactory) testimony to the time of year. Silly, seasonal jams floated on the air and tables were full of cakes and pies and cocktail treats. 

Charles felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck. He’d never cared for making a spectacle of himself, but Honoria should have few complaints about this part of her birthday present. Besides, the reassembled 4077th was the closest thing he’d ever had to a family that cared for his happiness; it was proper that this be done before their eyes (he’d need to coordinate dates with them anyway, a task he didn’t relish, thinking back to the party they’d planned for their relatives). And he didn’t anticipate rejection, exactly; he just worried that Max might think it all too fast. 

_But I need you, now, darling, as I needed you - and feared to need you - in war. I need you for every day that remains to me and I need you beside me for all of the nights._ He nearly blushed, thinking of the joys they had discovered together. Charles had never thought himself a sensual person, but Maxwell had taught him better. He’d turned from parts of himself, felt disappointed that, when it came to sheer, physical beauty he had so little to offer… but Max loved every part of him. He wasn’t flattering him when he looked up with wide stunned eyes and knit himself to Charles like a shadow; he wanted all of him, _adored_ all of him. 

_My pretty, little miracle_ , Charles thought. _I may never be worthy of all I see in your eyes, but I shall continue to attempt to earn you and please you_. 

After all, they had nearly two years worth of time to make up for and, besides being a top-notch seamstress, Max was a great little actor. They recreated those lost moments so well (Charles affecting his earlier, haughty demeanor, Klinger badgering him until he had to fight off laughter - naked, sometimes!) that the Major sometimes forgot it _hadn’t_ happened that way. 

“Your u-uniform is _not_ a costume,” his sister had informed him, annoyed. But when Maxwell ran to him in dress browns and was caught up in his strong arms… there was no one present who didn’t feel the fireworks of it. 

Klinger understood, then, why the Major had asked him to wear the clothes he’d left Korea in. He knew exactly what to say. “Take me home with you, Major baby.” He sounded a little desperate even to himself. “Don’t leave me here.” 

“I’ve no intention of doing so. But, darling, for this next part I think it best I set you down. May I?”

Klinger nodded and slid to his feet - glassy flats that had fairytale ending written all over them. Charles turned to his sister. “Honoria, if you would open that other present?” He had warned her that it was something of a shared gift. Shaking at what she was almost sure she was seeing (how was this _possible_?) she opened the little cage. The party (and Honoria’s arms) was joined by kittens. Charles scooped up one with a yellow ribbon. “I wanted an ambassador,” he told Maxwell. “Just in case.” 

Maxwell took the kitten - a plump, flat-faced, wriggling thing that loved him on sight and forever. Charles took a knee. The ring flashed on the ribbon serving as the kitten’s collar and the reassembled 4077th cried. 

*** 

The party was burning itself out around them as dawn readied herself for her appearance. In the castle courtyard, in slow circles, two couples still spun, made family in the October air. Margaret caught Maxwell’s eyes over Honoria’s shoulder, the hem of her gown decorated with fallen leaves, and sketched a salute. Maxwell returned the gesture and started planning a dual wedding.

End! 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
